


Grace

by emynii, ObliObla



Series: Nia & Obli's Whumptober 2019 [13]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hell, Post-Canon, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 21:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21022382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emynii/pseuds/emynii, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliObla/pseuds/ObliObla
Summary: Maze is fighting.She’s always been fighting.For the Whumptober prompt: adrenaline





	Grace

Maze is fighting.

She’s always been fighting. From the beginning—with her siblings, with the monsters in the dark. But she _ is _ one of the monsters in the dark. The first of them.

The best of them.

And here she stands—she _ fights_—in the place she first thought was hers by charity, then by obligation, now by true comradeship. The creature of darkness dancing with the bringer of light.

And it _ is _ a dance. A partnership older than human civilization—one that will stretch until the stars fall from the sky. Longer, maybe. They might well mark their paces on the ashes.

She may love him, she may not. But there is no doubt that he is all she has. And she is all he has, now. Again.

And _ this _ is what they have.

Her knives, forged from his feathers, glint menacingly in the night as she dives, spins, side-steps under his reaching arms, their attackers coming from all sides. Rarely does he ever use a weapon, preferring, she knows, to feel the heat of their enemies’ blood on his hands as he feels his own singing in his veins.

And hers keens in harmony. Finally.

He dives, and she leaps, running up his back to gain leverage for a truer strike, nothing left to whisper in that place a soul might sit but bloodlust. And she is glad for it.

Those humans that they loved and still fail to forget are silenced in these moments, in the rise and fall, in the glorious din of the ever-battles of Hell. And later, in a greater sort of rise, in a better sort of fall, they remain quiet. Though she can see them, sometimes, like sneak thieves at the corners of her eyes, watching as brighter virtues are drawn from darker sins.

But they can no longer judge him, judge _ her. _ There is no shame in what they do, as free as the garden before the fall. Freer, maybe, for they well know what was lost in the plummet. What was gained.

“Come with me,” he said, once, and even in their cruelest moments she’s never regretted it. Abandoning everything she knew. Devoting herself to a veritable stranger, a monster bathed in pure light, so much better at hiding his monstrosity than the creatures of the night.

But he doesn’t hide anymore. Not from her.

She presses her hand to his chest and feels the blood rushing, her own echoing back its joy. But when she pulls away, something’s wrong. Red is painted across his pale skin. She stares at it, stares at the same crimson dripping from her hand. Touches her fingers to where he is staring between her breasts.

What she thought was lust in his eyes is fear.

“Mazikeen,” he whispers, voice far too full of tenderness. She wants the roughness back, wants the hoarseness when she has him on his knees, when he falls gladly before her. But her head is swimming, and when she reaches up to grab him, to pull him down, she only smears blood across his face.

Her blood.

It’s not singing, only glinting in the light of his wings, and _ she _ is the one falling now. When he catches her, they sink, together, to the ground, and she means to make a joke, or an innuendo, or maybe a provocation, but only blood pours from her mouth, the pooling scarlet all the words she could never say.

“I won’t let you go,” he tells her, as if he might stare down Death herself and hold her back from the final embrace. The final fight. And, for a moment, she almost believes he could. He defied Heaven; he defied the stars themselves—why not death?

But her heat is leaving her with the blood, and there is no luster within her chest to cling to. He has power over souls, but she is too empty to be filled with his light.

She coughs, again, and he brushes hair from her face, whispering a litany she can no longer understand. But she takes his meaning—those same words she’s never been able to say. But she knows what they mean, now; feels them in all the ways she cannot feel the wound, so risen from adrenaline she can’t even feel the fall. And she _ is _ falling, still, as he did, so long ago.

But she doesn’t get up again.


End file.
